A Letter In Your Writing
by Raven Blossom
Summary: What happens when Remus begins getting owls after Sirius is thrown in Azkaban? Rated for harsh language and themes. Dark and angsty


fic inspired by David Bowie's version of "Cactus." son originally done by the Pixies. thanks to Chandra for making me finish it in 2 nights. and to chel for betating, as always :)

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**A Letter In Your Writing**  
  
Remus Lupin couldn't have been in a more distraught state of mind. Two of his best friends had been murdered, their only son orphaned and left with awful Muggles, another of his friends was dead, and the one he'd been closest to was now in Azkaban on murder charges. He didn't understand how Sirius could betray everyone like that.  
They were a few years out of Hogwarts, just getting their bearings in the real world. He'd had a nice desk job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Oddly enough, in the Spirit Division. Sirius and James were training to become Aurors. Lily was a stay- at-home mom for the time being. Peter had a desk job as well, only his was in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Everyday they ate lunch together.  
So what went wrong?  
Sirius had been sent to Azkaban without a trial. He was gone so fast, Remus barely had time to let it soak in, along with the deaths of his three other best friends. The Ministry had given him a week off to collect himself.  
An owl flew in through the kitchen window of his tiny flat just outside of London. It was in a Muggle neighborhood, but like Grimmauld Place, it was hidden to Muggles. Grimmauld Place. Remus closed his eyes tightly and willed himself not to tear up.  
He opened the letter, took one look and dropped it.  
"_You know I didn't do it.."_ it read, in an unmistakable handwriting. Remus stared at the piece of parchment on his table, then headed towards his door. He grabbed his coat and went out for the evening, hoping to forget that the owl had ever come to his flat. 

Much to his disappointment, the parchment was still upon his kitchen table. And as he was completely incapacitated from drink, he couldn't hold back his tears. Merlin, if only he could believe those words.

Tuesday morning he woke up to pecking. An owl was trying to get his attention. He groaned and sat up on the couch, knowing full and well who this letter was from. He took it and the owl flew away, leaving him completely and utterly alone with the words of a madman. Remus tore open the seal.  
"_I miss your kiss and I miss your head_"  
He sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve, suddenly aware he hadn't changed his clothing since the weekend. But he didn't care. Those words ate at him. Despite his drinking habits, he always spent his nights alone in bed, mourning for the lover he thought he'd had, but was sadly mistaken about. If Sirius had betrayed them, lied to them, what could have stopped him from lying to Remus all those times he'd said they were in love.  
Remus snatched the paper from the couch and went to his desk. With his old second-hand quill, he wrote "A letter in your writing doesn't mean you're not dead."  
That was all. Hopefully Sirius would get the message and leave him alone. There was a very small voice niggling in the back of his brain, saying he should tell someone that Sirius was contacting him. But he couldn't bring himself to care. After this, he wouldn't have to worry about owls like those anymore. He could go on with his life, and put this all behind him.  
He apparated to Diagon Alley and was about to go into the owl post when logic bit him. All Ministry regulated owls (i.e. the owl post office) had records kept by secretaries that noted every place they had delivered to. He would have to wait for the next owl of Sirius', because no doubt there would be more.

But there wasn't an owl on Wednesday. Instead, upon his doorstep was a small potted cactus waiting for him. He had been to work that morning. He was desperate for something to take his mind off all this grief. However, the ministry was determined that he take his time off and he was sent home after someone walked by and noticed he was in his office.  
Remus scowled as he picked up the cactus and brought it inside. He set it down roughly upon his coffee table, went to the kitchen to grab his reserve bottle of Ogden's and threw himself down on the couch.  
"Stupid cactus," he said out loud to no one. He took a swig of the firewhiskey and cringed as it burned his esophagus. It was the numb feeling that came after, that he really wanted. He struggled out of his outer robes and rolled onto his stomach. He was eye-level with the cactus.  
Remus stared at the cactus for 15 minutes straight, concentrating on every aspect of it while taking periodic drinks. After he had memorized the cactus, he thought for a minute of what to do next.  
"I will memorize the dirt," he slurred, and proceeded to do so. His eyes caught sight of something white sticking out of the dirt. He reached for it and pulled out a piece of rolled up parchment.  
"What the bloody fuck!" he exclaimed, unraveling the paper.  
"_Will you take off your robes and send them to me?" _the paper read. He stared at it and then let out a growl.  
Remus knew why his ex-friend would want his robes. They both understood the canine sense of smell, for obvious reasons. They both knew that canines saw more with their nose than their eyes. No, he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't give in to the maniac's request.  
"Bugger probably wants to try and curse me next! Well! He won't do it! I won't let him!" he shouted into his empty apartment. In his current state it took him longer than normal to reach the conclusion that Sirius obviously wouldn't still have his wand, or access to potion ingredients.  
With that thought, he began laughing hysterically. He laughed so hard he hit the floor and fell into his usual state of unconscious sleep for the night.

Remus' head ached more than he was used to as he slowly sat up Thursday morning. Most likely due to the large bump on his head that he had obtained from his graceless descent last night.  
As he was sitting up, it occurred to him that Sirius would have a hard time, impossible time actually, cursing Remus from so far away due to lack of resources. So how in the fuck was he sending him owls and cacti?  
"I DON'T KNOW" Remus roared. He chose the wrong moment to stand up and ended back on his arse. He moaned loudly, not noticing the owl next to his head. It dropped the roll of parchment next to his ear, startling him. He remembered that he wanted to send his reply, but the bird was out the window as he scrambled to his feet.  
"Fuck!" he exclaimed. His eyes roamed the room, looking for something to break, but there was nothing. He hadn't been working all week, and he had no money. No money to buy nice things to decorate his shitty apartment with. His gaze focused on the paper at his feet. He glared at it, hoping it would burst into flames. He almost took out his wand and performed the action. But then he wouldn't know what it had said. And Remus had to know.  
As the parchment unrolled, something small fell to the floor. It suddenly enlarged itself and Remus found himself staring at a woman's dress. It was a sundress. Yellow. Delicate flowery pattern all over. His eyes widened as he read the paper.  
_"I put it on when I go lonely. Will you take off your dress and send it to me?"  
_ The hand that was holding the paper began shaking. Of all the things that Sirius could have mentioned. Remus felt a pain in his chest and fell to his knees in front of the dress.  
Back in 6th year, Sirius had won a bet with Remus. And the stakes were the loser had to go to the Yule Ball in drag. And, to revel in his humiliation, the winner would accompany the loser as his date for the dance. Unbeknownst to Remus, his sly friend had rigged it so he would lose. It had been Sirius' twisted way of asking Remus out, because he'd had feelings for him forever.  
The dress that Remus wore was nothing like the dress in front of him. But it might as well have been. After the ball that night, they made love for the first time. And for the first time, Remus felt wanted.  
And now the bastard was throwing it in his face. By now, Remus was absolutely positive that Sirius had been lying the whole time. This was the last straw.  
He put the paper down on the woven rug and withdrew his wand. All the bitterness within him voiced itself as he shouted, "INCENDIO," and lit the paper as well as the rug on fire. He watched it burn for a minute before putting it out.  
Then he crawled down onto the floor, stomach flat against the hardwood, pressed his face into the dress, and cried himself to sleep.

Remus groaned because his head was pounding. But after a minute, he realized that someone was actually knocking. He picked his dirty, ragged, alcohol smelling self up off the floor and headed towards the front hall. Before he made it to the door, it swung open, nearly smacking him in the face. Instead he jumped to the side and slammed his head against the wall, aggravating his concussion from the previous day even more.  
On his doorstep stood Mundungus Fletcher, his robes bulky in extremely odd places.  
"Jesus, Dung, you knock, then WAIT for the person to open it," he grumbled, favoring his sore head. Mundungus waltzed into the flat, shutting the door behind him.  
"You look like right shit, Remus," he informed him.  
"Well if that's all you came for, I'd be glad to look like shit by myself, if you don't mind," Remus snapped. His voice was strained. Everything about him was different. The last thing he wanted was to see people now. People who reminded him of...him. But Mundungus wasn't the shiniest of pots, and he strode into Remus' poor excuse for a living room. He eyed the dress on the floor and nudged it with his foot.  
"Had a lady friend over here, eh? Yeah, I find that helps ease the pain of ..well, life," he offered. Remus glared at the back of the other man's head. He had something to say to that, but then it might reveal that he was in contact with a deadly criminal.  
"Yeah.. she was..great," he said softly, wincing. He picked the dress up and threw it into his room. The room he neglected of late, because of the reminders it had.  
"What exactly is it you want, Dung?" Remus asked, wishing to high heavens he was still alone.  
"Nothin'. Jus' checkin' on you is all. I knew how close you two–"  
"No, Mundungus, I'm sure you had no idea. As you can plainly tell, I'm fine. So you can go back and report that to Dumbledore and all the other 'worried' people. And tell them to leave me the fuck alone," he warned harshly as he stormed off into his own room. It was the only place he had to run to. He slammed the door and fell onto the bed, dust motes floating up above him. A few seconds later he heard his front door slam shut. Good, he was alone. He rolled onto his back, put a pillow under his head and studied the ceiling pattern.  
Then a knocking came at his window. Slowly he got up and saw a flapping feathery figure. The owl was late. Usually he came in the morning; it was now noon.  
Remus opened the window, snatched the parchment from the owl's beak and shut the window before the damn thing could fly in. He threw the parchment onto the bed, and it opened itself.  
_"So spill your breakfast and drink your wine. Just wear that dress when you're dying."_ Cryptic, Remus thought. Was he supposed to be dying? He might have looked like it, and felt like it, but he knew that he wasn't actually dying.  
"Now he thinks he can get all paradoxical on me," he said angrily. But before he went into another fit of rage, he sat down on the bed. An epiphany hit him as he had spoke. This wasn't healthy. His head pained him for a moment and all his previous rationality came rushing back. He started crying.  
He was lost. At least when he was angry, he knew where he stood. Now, after all these snippets of letters, he wasn't so sure about everything. Sirius couldn't do anything to him while in Azkaban. And what if, he thought, what if just MAYBE Sirius was innocent. Somehow. He had no idea how Sirius could be innocent. But Padfoot had to be hurting badly to be sending such messages.  
Remus' heart wrenched at him. His sobbing was suddenly interrupted by another rapping at his window. How had the owl come back so quickly?  
_ "So bloody your hands on the cactus tree. Wipe it on your dress and send it to me."  
_ He dropped the paper and went into the other room. The cactus sat stupidly on his coffee table that had only 3 legs. He reached out and grabbed hold of it, wincing as the sharp points pricked his fingers and palms. He began squeezing the cactus, ignoring the now significant blood flow from his digits. The pain was numbing, and he liked it. It felt good. He crushed the cactus to a pulp and let it drop onto the hardwood floor, the pot shattering. He'd clean up later.  
Remus went back into his room and picked up the yellow sundress. He rubbed his hands all over the front of it, the back, on the inside. Around the dainty scoop collar, in the tiny pleats of the skirt. He smeared his blood everywhere he could, until he actually stopped bleeding.  
The owl was sitting on his bedpost, as if it had known he would finally comply. Remus handed the bloody dress over to the owl, who took it in his talons.  
"Thank you, Padfoot," Remus whispered as the owl flew away.  
Even if his best friend was a murderer, a traitor, a maniac, he still knew how to make him feel better.  
Remus would be allowed to move on now. He understood that, and left his room with a grim smile upon his face.

Everyone was under the misconception that dementors were the sole guardians of Azkaban. During the night time, yes. That was when they were at their peak of happiness-sucking because everyone became more frightened in the dark. Their defenses were down, and the dementors loved it.  
During the day, however, a few very brave and very hardened wizard guards patrolled up and down the halls of the prison. They walked in pairs, because wandering alone near dementors was a very, very bad idea.  
One such pair of guards stopped in front of the highest of the high security criminals. The pathetic excuse of a man had only been in there a little over a week, and he was almost nearly broken. He lay curled up in a ball on the ground, not even bothering with the equally uncomfortable bed.  
"Oi, Earl, what's that he's got there?" one of them asked, pointing.  
"Ah, thas' nothin. Prolly his victim's dress or something. He can't do nothin wiv' it," the other answered, and they continued their stroll.  
They didn't notice the grim smile upon the man's face as he drew in ragged breaths of the bloodied cloth.


End file.
